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Strava: VT Super 8: north lobe 10 days after wrapping up The Adirondack Trail Ride (TATR), I found myself on the lawn of the Vermont State House amidst several dozen other riders about to embark on the grand depart of the VT Super 8. As my friend Meg once said, 10 days after a big effort is when you reap the rewards, so I was banking on that wisdom going into this ride. I'd learned about the Super 8 while perusing the Vermont Bikepackers website and route library shortly after touring the VTXL earlier this summer with some friends. The Super 8 was originally going to be my first foray into bikepacking ultra-racing until I decided to send TATR at the eleventh hour earlier this month. The route, a 655-mile figure eight with a centerpoint in downtown Montpelier, encompasses nearly the entire perimeter and parts of the interior of the Green Mountain state. Riders can choose to tackle the full 8 or one of the two "lobes," and I decided to just take on the 270-mile north lobe this year TATR reset all my previous expectations for pacing, fueling, and my ability to function in a sleep-deprived state, so I went into my planning for the north lobe with the goal of a sub-48-hour finish time. Among my many takeaways from TATR, I wrote down every food stop along the route with the mile marker and operating hours on a laminated sticky note to keep in my feed bag (shoutout to James R. for the #protip). I also ditched my pot, stove, and mug and traded in the one-person tent for a bivy, allowing me to forgo the handlebar roll altogether. Had I known better, I would've left my sleeping bag and pad at home too, but hindsight is always 20/20. After my plans to take the train north were thwarted by a lack of bike cargo spots, I managed to catch a ride with a friend of a friend who so generously detoured to Northampton on his way to Montpelier from Boston (read: not at all on the way). Ricky and I exchanged stories from the roads and trails on the drive up, and the stoke was high when we arrived at the pre-grand depart pizza party at Onion River Outdoors as the rain clouds gave way to a golden sunset. It was so great to meet the event organizers and many of the riders before finding ourselves on the route the next morning. Post-pizza, I hopped on my bike and rode straight up a devilishly steep hill to get to the Warmshowers hosts who had kindly offered me a bed (!) for the night. When I arrived, they had just taken out the first batch of layers that would be part of a wedding cake slated to feed 96 guests at their neighbor's daughter's wedding that weekend. Nancy isn't a professional baker by trade, but I wouldn't know otherwise.
Once again, I was blessed with unbelievable weather (though no full moon - actually quite the opposite with very dark skies), and while the morning started out with thick fog, the clouds burned off before noon. The early miles were a lovely blur, with what felt like endless dirt climbs past dairy farms, town forest trails, a section of rail trail, and ample doubletrack sprinkled with some hike-a-bike. Around 1pm and 55 miles in, I made it to Maplefields in St. Johnsbury for my lunch stop. I feasted on a bagel I'd brought from home, a Coke, and a peanut butter chocolate bar while soaking up some sun in the parking lot. About an hour and a half later, I arrived in Lyndonville at what would be my last refueling stop for another ~113 miles. I refilled my water and stocked up on naan, a block of cheese, a chicken salad sandwich, and a Red Bull. I ran into fellow rider Tucker who was pouring several bottles of iced tea into a Hydroflask to take on the go. Definitely a #protip. The next few miles out of Lyndonville and through the Burke Mountain trail network were sweetly familiar and made the climbing roll by quickly. I passed the chapel on the hill, the Wildflower Inn, and eventually made it to the Burke Mountain campground where I refilled my water and attempted to mentally prepare for the chunder of the CCC road climb and descent toward Victory that was yet to come.
As I left the pavement behind and continued to climb, I soon found myself walking my bike up the loose, rocky ski runs. When I neared the top, I realized I was making better time than I had expected. It felt like I'd been racing the sun all day, and I'd just hoped to make it to the top of Burke before sunset. With ~2 hours of daylight left, I began descending and traversing over to the Victory trails, not without ample walking. I reached the singletrack descent of Clodhopper and tried to enjoy the berms and rolls as much as I could on my fully-loaded bike, though I lost the trail a handful of times and had to consult Trailforks to find my way.
At one point, I nearly crossed paths with a posse of ATVers whose bright lights were visible from several hundred feet down the trail, but they had blasted off down another track before I arrived, which was a relief. Around 9pm and nearly 100 miles in to my day, the ambiance of the Gallup Mills DPW beckoned me to stop for dinner. Sitting under the floodlight outside the shed, I wolfed down a sandwich, some trail mix, and a few bites of a block of farmhouse reserve Cabot cheese. The vibes were immaculate. I also took a few minutes to clean and re-lube my chain, which had started squeaking incessantly over the last few hours of riding through deep puddles. Back on my bike, I headed into the next several miles of logging roads leading to the Nulhegan Basin area. This section was a mix of smooth dirt roads and heinously sandy, chunky climbing and descending under power lines. Just after midnight, I popped out on the smooth, sweet pavement of VT Route 105 and was met with a thick foggy drizzle. I'd been riding in a curious mélange of layers up until that point (jersey under windbreaker under my down jacket), and I immediately shuffled my layers around when I realized how wet the air was. I also had an unprecedented five bars of cell service, so I called up my dad (who is much more a creature of the night than I) and chatted with him for a few minutes. He wanted to know if I was riding with anyone ("why not?!") and expressed moderate concern that I wasn't planning to stop and rest any time soon. At the next turn heading into the Silvio O. Conte refuge, I crossed over the Northern Forest Canoe trail (the first of two crossings on the route!) where the Nulhegan River flows down toward its confluence with the Connecticut. This section of the route felt comfortingly familiar, as it also follows some of the same dirt roads as the VTXL. Needless to say, it was a dramatically different experience riding through this area in the early hours of the morning as opposed to full daylight.
Around 2:30am, I arrived in Island Pond, nearly 3.5 hours too early for a resupply. Fortunately, I had more than enough food to get to Newport for breakfast, so I took a quick snack break and extended my Duolingo streak, por supuesto. I also checked the Trackleaders map for the first time since St. Johnsbury, and I was motivated to not linger after seeing Ania only ~15 miles behind me. The next three hours of early morning miles were some of the toughest mentally. As I slogged on through the dark, my mind started to wander to the tempting possibility of taking a nap under literally any overhang within sight of the road. I resisted and blasted some music instead as I pushed ahead toward the border. Around dawn, I arrived in Newport under a heavy veil of fog and made a beeline for a Maplefields. I sat on the clean tile floor and savored the most delicious PSL (pumpkin spice latte) I've ever had.
It was James' birthday, and he'd ridden all the way from the western shore of Lake Champlain to catch me on my attempt of the northern lobe. I was honored and delighted that he chose to spend his weekend cheering on my VTS8 ride. The final ~25 miles were by far the most challenging of the route - physically, mentally, and emotionally. A long stretch of washed-out 4x4 road had me pushing my bike over rocky ledges and around deep murky puddles, draining the little energy and patience I had left. After the sun went down and I inched ever closer to the end, the route twisted along the North Branch River Park.
Thank you to the VTS8 organizers for putting on this event year after year; this may be my first attempt, but I sure hope it's not my last.
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The Adirondack Trail Ride, or TATR, is a bikepacking route that circumnavigates upstate New York's 6-million-acre Adirondack Park. Every September, there's a grand depart that draws dozens of riders looking to ride (and race) the route starting at the same time from Northville, NY. The original, or "OG," route (585 miles with 51,650' of climbing) is long and infamously rugged, with mile after mile of hike-a-bike through chunky boulder fields and marshes, two major river crossings, and bushwhacking through dense forests.
Roughly 3 days before the start of TATR, I submitted my intent to ride the new TATR TEN route. "The perfect shakeout ride for the Super 8," I thought to myself (ha). This would also be my very first bikepacking ultra-endurance race, though my goal was simply to finish the route rather than compete. After car troubles thwarted my attempt to arrive in Northville the night before the grand depart, I questioned whether or not I'd even make it to the event. Fortunately, I was able to borrow my partner's car and made it to the starting line on Friday morning with time to spare. Before lining up for a group picture, I met and talked with a handful of other riders, including the other two women riding the TEN. Phase 1: Northville > Moose River Plains 141 miles | 9,823' | 11:34:40 Strava: TATR10 phase 1 After Mikey, one of the event organizers and a TATR veteran, shared some words of wisdom and stoke, we departed as a group at 8:10am. Just minutes into the neutral roll-out, we passed a local elementary school where students and teachers had gathered on both sides of the road to cheer us on. This was an incredibly sweet surprise send-off, and probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a pro cyclist.
After lunch, I rode alongside James G. until we reconvened with Matt near Speculator. By the late afternoon, I realized that what had started as some minor groin chafing had become heinously uncomfortable. We detoured into Speculator, the last town with a substantial market, to procure some rash cream. Unfortunately, the town was about a mile off route and down a giant hill that we'd need to climb back up. In retrospect, if I hadn't needed to stop, we could have just refilled our water at a spring on the route right before the turn-off and waited another few miles to resupply.
Phase 2: Moose River Plains > Tooley Pond 147 miles | 8,555' | 12:46:45 Strava: TATR10 phase 2 When my alarm went off at 4:30am, I felt shockingly well-rested (albeit a bit chilly), and we started moving by 5:20 to begin our approach to Inlet. As we made our way along the winding dirt roads through Moose River, all I could think about was how much of a game-changer it was to be riding with a dynamo light setup. * * Just 36 hours before leaving home, my friend, Meg, asked if I wanted to borrow her 650b wheelset with a generator hub. Not only were the wheels fitted with cushy but fast-rolling 2” tires, but I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping a front light charged for the entire journey. Biggest shout-out to Meg for the wheels and for being one of the raddest and most hilarious, loving, and dream-chasing shredders I know. xoxo. We rolled along into the dawn, and the early morning light filtered softly through the dense fog hanging over the marshes surrounding us on both sides of the road. We descended into Inlet dripping with condensation and stopped at the first gas station we saw, which just so happened to be the same one Ben and I stopped at briefly on our first day of paddling the Northern Forest Canoe Trail. This time around, we got coffee, breakfast sandwiches, fresh donuts, and snacks to fuel us for the next several hours. We rode through downtown Inlet and saw two of the leaders of the OG route in the lakefront park area where they had set up camp for a few early-morning hours of rest. We continued out of town on an ATV/multi-use path and passed a sign for the historic Raquette Lake railroad. After crossing some active railroad tracks, the path turned into a slightly chunkier dirt road, and our group spread out a bit over the next few hours. Matt, James G., and I reconvened shortly before detouring slightly for a lunch stop at a farm store near Belfort. We had hoped they'd have more lunch food, but we made do with soda, fresh plums, and some pumpkin spice trail mix before continuing on. We rode out of the corn fields and soon found ourselves back in the woods. My mood declined precipitously as we climbed what felt like endless loose gravel hills, but eventually we made it to the Oswegatchie Educational Center where we encountered some stellar trail magic: hot showers, coffee, and WiFi at a lodge on a beautiful lake in the middle of the woods. We took our time recharging and basking in the amenities as if we'd been riding for weeks rather than just over 24 hours, but we knew we had to keep moving at some point. We thanked our host and continued on toward Harrisville where we stopped at a Stewart's. Outside, we snacked and talked to a friendly cyclist who mountain bikes in the area and was interested in our setups. As the shadows grew longer, we pushed on toward Star Lake. Not far beyond Harrisville, we forded a flooded marsh area where the road was submerged under a foot or two of water. Our feet were wet but our spirits were high as we crossed over more railroad tracks and descended some picturesque roads in the golden hour light, and we hopped on Route 3 just as it was getting dark.
Close to Star Lake, the route directed us to turn sharply off the main road onto a trail that we simply could not find. As we stood in the dark trying to figure out the best way forward, a man came down his driveway and asked if we were okay. He told us there wasn't a trail behind his house that goes anywhere (where the route supposedly went). We asked about taking the next closest road that would put us back on the route, and he strongly discouraged us from attempting it due to the "steep hill" and the "rednecks and bears" around there. At the intersection of the possible cutover, we found ourselves at a crossroads. Our trio was divided over trying the re-route and sticking to the busy but reliable main road. After a good bit of deliberation, we ended up investigating the re-route (which did end up being a somewhat significant climb, but there were no redneck or bear encounters), and we were rewarded with a buttery-smooth, freshly-paved descent into Star Lake where we ate salad, pizza, and other snacks at a Circle K and scoped out our camp options for the night. Similar to the night before (but significantly later in the evening), we decided to continue on toward Tooley Pond where there appeared to be a trailhead and potential campsite. The ~20 miles to Tooley were relatively flat but felt endless, and I felt pretty unsettled by the dark, silent houses we passed along the way. We arrived at Tooley after midnight and passed out for a few hours of sleep. Phase 3: Tooley Pond > Wilmington 136 miles | 8,343' | 12:37:19 Strava: TATR10 phase 3 We woke up around 4am and indulged in some 7-flavor oatmeal to kick off the morning, giving me an excuse to use my stove and pot while shedding some food weight. If TATR taught me anything, it's that bringing a pot, stove, mug, and dehydrated food (along with a tent instead of a bivy, good gawd) for an ultra race was quite the rookie move and very much not #ultralight. While we ate, James G. declared that he thought we could finish the ride in 4 days. I told him I thought that was absolutely bonkers but that I would try to keep up as long as I could.
While we feasted, we chatted with James R. (an OG rider) who was also stopping there for a break. Notably, he offered us a travel-size toothbrush that happened to come with some toothpaste he'd bought. We all politely declined. In retrospect, keeping a toothbrush close at hand is an absolutely pro move considering all the sugary, high-carb foods I'm constantly coating my teeth with during these long rides. Feeling fueled up and amped to keep rolling, I rode solo while bumping some tunes for the next few hours between Hopkinton and the next dirt section leading toward Paul Smith's. While at the store in Hopkinton, a woman had mentioned that we’d pass a spring a few miles down the dirt road. By the time I reconvened with James G., he was out of water and I was approaching empty by the time we found it, many miles after we'd completely lost hope of passing it. The miles of quiet forest roads to Paul Smith's were gorgeous but slow, interspersed with stretches of deep sand to keep us on our toes. When we arrived in town, we knew it was highly unlikely we’d make it to Wilmington before the establishments there closed. We decided to take a long break to charge our devices and split a sandwich, potato chips (the flavors of the day, which had traveled all the way from Circle K, were grilled hot dog and cheesy garlic bread flavors), and an iced coffee from a vending machine inside the gym where we’d parked ourselves. As we continued out of town toward Wilmington, we followed a scenic ATV/multi-use trail following power lines for several miles. Just as it was getting dark, the spindly wire mount resembling a paper clip that I had been using to mount the dynamo light to my handlebars snapped in half. I thought I was 100% screwed, but I was able to strap the light body to my normal light mount, which ended up being significantly more secure than what had previously been holding it together. While I was finagling the light situation, James R. zipped past us. Looking back on my TATR experience, I was probably checking Trackleaders (the “dot watching” platform used to track riders’ positions along the routes) a few times a day, but it was always a fun surprise to leapfrog with riders who you were convinced were already ahead or behind you. As the darkness settled in, we made our way through the Franklin Falls-Union Falls Pond area, another NFCT-TATR crossover point, and zigzagged our way up a steeeeep paved headwall. At the top, we threw on every layer we had before rolling down the luxuriously long, evenly-graded road into Wilmington. By the time we arrived in town around 10:30pm, not a single store was open and the town was eerily silent. We stopped at a gas station where we refilled water at an outside spigot and charged our devices. I had just started boiling water for chili (maybe bringing a stove, pot, and dehydrated food wasn’t a terrible idea?) when James R. showed up once again. A few minutes after his arrival, a car blazed past us, followed closely by a half dozen police cars all going at least 60mph down the quiet main street. We were all pretty shaken up by the chase, grateful to have been off the road by mere minutes. The three of us proceeded to yap for nearly an hour while James shuffled around his gear and ate a granola bar. James G. and I decided we needed to take a nap before pushing ahead, and we investigated the ballpark around the block as per James R.'s recommendation, as he recalled there being a dugout which would make a quaint shelter. Instead, to our awe, there was a covered picnic area and four unlocked, heated bathrooms where we slept on the bathroom floor and dried out our gear for ~2 hours before waking up at 3am to continue riding. Phase 4: Wilmington > Northville 191 miles | 17,844' | 20:12:02 Strava: TATR10 phase 4 When we rolled out around 3am, the ballpark and nearby hills were illuminated by the glow of the nearly-full moon. We encountered some smooth, swoopy singletrack on the way out of town and made our way east toward Jay. Another paved climb rivaled the steepness of the hill on our way to Wilmington, and my right knee wasn’t exactly having the time of its life.
As we hit a more gradual dirt section of the climb toward Jay Mountain, we passed none other than James R. who had stopped briefly for a rest just off the road. James G. and I continued on. Just before dawn, we hit a blockade across the road where a bridge was out. We followed tire tracks imprinted in the dewy grass leading down to the river where I fumbled to cross and quickly gave up on trying to keep my feet dry. Soon after the crossing, we encountered a cooler on the side of the road marked “trail magic.” Inside the cooler, a kind neighbor had left several dozen small apples making for a fun 6am snack. The sun was just beginning to filter through the trees as I pushed my bike up the final loose gravel headwall, and we began our long descent on the chundery track (which looked more like a streambed than a road at times) toward Lewis. We were now entering James G.’s home turf, and we took a delightful pit stop at a farm stand that had a stunning array of baked and canned goods. We housed an entire bag of peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip coconut cookies, hopeful that this would be enough to get me to Westport for a more substantial breakfast stop. In retrospect, 'twas not.
Our next stop in North Hudson was one I’d been looking forward to for the last day or so: Frontier Town Gateway, specifically the samosas at an Indian restaurant inside a rest station. Boy, did it deliver. Samosas, a coconut ice cream bar, and a Red Bull hit the spot for a late-afternoon snack. From there, James G. and I continued riding together into the golden hour sunlight, tackling a long but gradual paved climb right out of town. As we descended the s-curves after cresting the hill, we almost missed our turn off the main paved road onto an overgrown forest service road.
With 60 miles remaining, we continued on in a sleep-deprived, adrenaline-fueled haze. Between midnight and dawn, we cycled through periods of silence and stretches of deep conversation under the nearly-full moon. Sometime around 3am, we stopped for a power nap on the side of a 4x4 road. I set an alarm for 10 minutes, and James managed to catch a few winks while I lay on the ground in fear that if I dozed off at that moment, I’d almost definitely sleep through my alarm. Power naps are high on my list of skills to refine in the coming year. As James emerged from his brief slumber, I housed a peanut butter chocolate rice crispy bar that had been kicking around in my feed bag since the Circle K in Star Lake. Hands-down one of the most delicious baked goods I’ve ever eaten, definitely not just the circumstances. A bit before dawn, we rode through a field lined with signs that pointed to trail magic, but I couldn’t quite tell how far off the road they led and wanted to keep moving. Just before the sun came up, James needed to stop, but I was so cold and determined to keep my momentum that I kept moving, knowing he’d catch me within few minutes. At the top of the next hill, I put on every layer I’d packed but in the most chaotic order courtesy of my limited executive function: baselayer under sun shirt under windbreaker topped off with my down jacket. I also decided in that moment that if I didn’t consume some caffeine, I’d probably fall asleep on my bike, so I pounded a mini can of Coke that I’d been saving (“for an emergency,” whatever that means) since Westport. The sun rose behind me as I forged ahead toward Northville, realizing that if all went smoothly, I could make it to the finish in just under 4 days. It really wasn’t until this point that what had started as a ride felt like the start of a race against the clock. As the minutes ticked away, my brain was quiet and it felt like I was floating above my bike rather than pushing the pedals. The miles to the finish were soul-crushing, and I laughed out loud to myself as I approached one hill that looked like a vertical wall. To this day, I don’t know how I managed to stay on my bike instead of pushing it up Yates Hill Road. The last section of dirt before the finish was the most fitting ending I could imagine, walking my bike around blowdowns and snaking my way down a washed-out streambed. As I rolled into Northville roughly 10 minutes before 8am, I was surprised and delighted to see Adin, the first OG finisher, along with one of the event organizers and a woman rider who’d crashed on the first day and had to scratch.
Friends don’t let friends do dumb things alone, and I think our journey was proof of that and then some. Endless gratitude for the TATR organizers and community for this beautiful, biting, relentless experience and to the kind, generous people I met along the way.
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about the authorPhoebe is a writer, spatial data enthusiast, and fan of bikes, bagels, and type II fun. ArchivesCategories |
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